


Awakening of the Immortals: Knight of the Beast

by dexdevlin



Series: Awakening of the Immortals [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Assassin - Freeform, Battle, Bloodshed, Dark, F/F, Humour, Immortality, Knights - Freeform, Lesbian Character, Loyalty, Royalty, W/w, War, lycanthropy, mature - Freeform, power, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexdevlin/pseuds/dexdevlin
Summary: "You mustn’t worry, Grace. A knighthood is nothing to fear. You must anticipate nothing; this kingdom has known peace for a hundred years. What evil could there be?"Grace has been charged to protect the Queen and her kingdom. But when the enemy appears, demanding war, will she relinquish her sword or her soul in order to save those she loves?





	1. Prologue

_It was getting colder by the hour, outside the tavern._  
_A young woman stood underneath the swinging wooden sign in the night, her thick cloak clutched tightly by her pale, small hands. Her breath dissipated in small puffs of white._  
_Nearing midnight, a man neared, upon a horse. He, too, was shrouded in a dark cloak, his body broad and powerful, the hands that held the reigns scarred at the knuckles._  
_“It took you long enough,” she hissed, her eyes narrowed beneath her hood._  
_“Patience never was your forte,” the man said calmly. “Now, why did you call on me?”_  
_The young woman seemed hesitant to reply, almost restless. “The queen has decided to engage in a war, Reginald.”_  
_“And that is my problem?”_  
_Her head jerked, clearly annoyed. “Yes, because people will die. One in particular. You must protect them at all costs.”_  
_Reginald raised an eyebrow, his face lit by the yellow glow from the light inside the tavern._  
_“All costs, you say?”_  
_“I am a woman of my word, you cold idiot.” She tossed him a small, lumpy pouch._  
_“Many thanks, you have my word.”_  
_“As a man, or a gambler?” The young woman smirked and watched his face darken._  
_“As a killer, Grace.”_  
_She sobered and nodded shortly. With a parting wave, Grace gathered her bearings and turned to flee once again into the waiting night._


	2. Royal Duties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grace refuses her feelings. . . again.

The queen’s sword flashed white as it clashed with that of her blacksmith, the noise shattering the silence of the courtyard. 

“It is wonderful, thank you,” she said, nodding once, almost a bow of gratitude. The blacksmith smiled broadly, his chest puffed up a little in pride. It was no simple feat to gain the queen’s approval, especially for something she loved as much as weaponry.

Once the sword had been tested aptly, the queen intended to break it in for a few hours before nightfall, as was her usual routine. 

“Grace, come now. Pay the man.” 

Grace hurried from her post and handed the blacksmith his pouch of coins, his ten pieces of silver. He took it, and promptly packed up and left the courtyard with his assistant. 

The sun shone on the kingdom, the castle grounds bathed in a warm buttery glow. But to Grace, and most of the queen’s guards, the heat of the sun was nigh unbearable. She was, from the neck down, clad in iron armor over a layer of chainmail and undergarments, a heavy sword hanging in its sheath at her side. Every bucket in the kingdom would not be enough to carry the amount she had been sweating since that morning. 

As Grace and the queen walked back into the castle, the bell rang to signal another hour passing. 

The queen scowled and rolled her eyes, her face still regally beautiful despite the amount of time she spent with her brow furrowed and her mouth twisted into a frown. 

“That damned bell ringer, he’s always a little off.” 

Grace smiled. “Why don’t you have him whipped at the post?”

“Ah, you know I couldn’t do that. He’d show up late.” 

It didn’t happen often, but Grace laughed. The queen had an aptitude for bringing out the strangest things in people, and her head guard was no exception. 

“You have a lovely laugh, my dear.”

Grace felt a flood of heat and a prickling sensation in her cheeks and neck. 

“You are too informal, your majesty.”

The queen smoothed back her short dark hair and sighed. 

“Forgive me. How awful that you should be the one to correct my formality. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Grace nodded, her mouth clamped shut as they entered the throne room. Reginald stood, stoic and proud, beside the queen’s throne, his eyes straightforward. Grace tried not to make eye contact as she took her place on the left side of the throne. 

The queen flashed a disarming grin at both of them and declared brightly, “I’m going to change into my gown for this evening, would either of you like to help me?”

It was a running joke, Grace knew, but that didn’t stop her mind from straying to certain indecent imagines. . . 

“Neither of you? How unfortunate. Perhaps my maid will be of some assistance. Leana!” 

And with that, she was marching out the throne room to her quarters.

Grace often lingered on the queens beauty when she was not present, when her mind could afford to focus on things other than the drag of daily life. She herself had hair that was too bright of a colour - like a sunset - and wildly curly, so she kept it underneath her chainmail headpiece. But the queen had short hair, that was constantly smooth and sleek, not a hair out of place. It was unusual for a queen to have such a short haircut, but Grace thought it made her even more intimidating. It cut out her face shape a lot more, made her cheekbones more prominent and her jaw sharper. She had lovely eyes, too. A mix of green and brown and blue. Like a forest on a spring day. Long lashes, long throat, even longer legs. 

She was born to be royalty, Grace thought. And Grace was born to be a peasant, but there she was, standing beside the queen’s throne in a palace, in the very heart of the kingdom. 

There were other guards posted, of course, but they had all trained together. Grace had trained herself, alone in the hills outside the kingdom. Ever since she was young, she had wanted to be knight. To fight and conquer and defend a kingdom, a king. 

When the queen’s father died, the entire kingdom mourned for what felt like an age. The queen wore black to her coronation. Grace couldn’t quit remember when she had stopped wearing the colour. Perhaps a few weeks after Grace had entered the guard. 

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Grace lifted her head and straightened up as the queen entered the throne room again. She was wearing a large blue gown, the sleeves made of delicate lace and glittering stones studded the waistline and up her spine. She was, as always, breathtaking. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” The queen asked, settling into her throne and glancing up at Reginald and Grace. 

They nodded in unison and the queens laughter echoed through the room. 

“When are the dignitaries arriving?”

Reginald answered this one. “They should be here before the hour is up, my queen.”

Grace would never speak so boldly as to address her as  _ her  _ queen. It felt possessive. 

“Well. That’s awful of them, isn’t it? Regardless, I am patient.”

The queen looked at Grace out of the corner of her eye, waiting. Grace couldn’t help it; she laughed. 


	3. An Unwelcome Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone enters the kingdom to deliver a message.

The attack horn woke Grace immediately. It was a crude, startling sound that had never before rang through the kingdom, but every guard, every knight, had to know it.

“Shit.” 

She dressed frantically, and was buckling her sheath when there was a loud bang on her door. 

“Who is it?” 

“Grace? Grace, it's me.” 

She unlocked the door, wrestled with her headpiece for a moment, before flinging onto her cot and turning to Reginald, who was taking up most of the entryway. 

“Is she hurt? In trouble?”

Reginald shook his head and glanced behind him briefly. 

“I don’t know, but she woke up before anyone else and went straight to the square.”

Grace tutted and barged past him into the hall, joining the mass of guards on their way to the queen. 

 

They arrived at the square to find the queen in her nightwear, which made many avert their eyes in embarrassment. She was holding a torch. Grace was at her side within seconds. 

“Are you alright, your majesty?”

The queen nodded, tight-lipped, and Grace realised she was staring at something. No,  _ someone.  _

A boy cowered under the glow of the torches that had amassed in the square as the people gathered. He couldn’t be any older than twelve, Grace thought. His hair was matted and as dirty as the rest of him. His eyes flashed when the light hit them, reflecting it briefly. They were bloodshot and had bruises beneath them. His mouth was parted, panting, and . . . were those  _ fangs?  _

Everything clicked in a moment, and Grace took a stance in front of the queen, her arms out to shield her as much as possible. 

The boy, the thing, laughed. It sounded more like hissing. 

“You think I am going to kill your ruler?”

Grace tried to stand taller, to block as much as she could of the queen. 

“Pitiful things, aren’t you.” 

It was strange to hear that from the boy that was cowering beneath the terrified gaze of an entire kingdom of people. 

“What do you want?” Grace’s voice was smaller than she meant it to be. 

The boy met her eyes and they were flooded with black intent. 

“Simply to warn you. My leader desires a battle. Many will die, but they will not be of my kind, you understand.” 

The queen nodded behind Grace, and rested a hand on Grace’s shoulder plate. 

“It’s alright, he’s not going to hurt me right now.”

She hesitated, nodded, and stepped to the side. 

“You say she desires a battle? When?”

“You will know when. She will send another to warn you.”

The queen nodded again and Grace noticed she was toying with the hem of her night shirt. She was worried, then. 

A unanimous noise of fear spread through the crowd as the boy rose and then vanished into the night, at an inhuman speed. 

“My queen?” Reginald came up behind them and glanced at Grace before focusing on the queen, who turned to her subjects. 

“I make a promise to protect you from this battle,” her voice rang out clear, “none shall be harmed, and none shall fall. You have my word.”

A grateful murmur spread through the crowd. 

“You must all return to your homes. Try and rest, if you can. I shall send word if I need anything.” 

With that, the people parted and eventually Grace, Reginald, the queen and her guards were the only ones left in the square. 

“Thank you for protecting me, Grace.”

Grace nodded and tried to look at the queen’s face instead of the cobblestone.

“Your hair is, well, very. . . exciting.”

Instantly, Grace reached up to touch her mess of curls and cringed.

“Forgive me, your majes-”

“Nonsense. It was a hurry for all of us, you did well. I just wished I could’ve seen such a wonderful head of hair under better circumstances.”

One of the guards snorted behind her and the queen whipped around. 

“I know that was you, Killian. You snort like a pig at a trough.” 

At that, the entire battalion of guards burst into raucous laughter. Even Grace laughed a little. 

“Grace, Reginald. Would you escort me back to my chambers? Stand post outside? I couldn’t bare to be alone.”

They nodded and walked with the queen back to the castle. 

A war. A battle. With the immortals. There was no way the kingdom would survive. Even if they had as many able bodies as the immortals had, they were no match. Fangs, claw-like nails, unbreakable skin. And the thirst for blood. 

It was to be a massacre, then, Grace thought. 

“Do not lose hope, lovely.” 

Grace looked over at the queen beside her, and caught a glimpse of a warm smile. Her stomach was a writhing hot mess.  _ Lovely.  _

“We are not yet defeated.”

Grace hoped the queen was right. It made her glad of her investment in Reginald. Glad that at if Grace should perish, she would not die in vain. 

The queen would be safe.


	4. Preparing for War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grace makes her knighthood a priority.

Morning came too soon. Usually, Grace was very good at getting up before the birds, dressing and standing at attention in the throne room by the time the queen entered wearing something extravagant. But she had been sitting on a bumpy stool outside the queens chambers all night. When the sun came up, her eyes were itchy from lack of sleep and her hands were shaking. She had eaten nothing, drank nothing, in almost twenty-four hours. 

She felt a little relief when she heard rustling from inside the room. It meant the queen was awake. Perhaps she would let Grace and Reginald sleep the day through.

Perhaps not. 

“Grace?”

“Your majesty?”

“Leana left in the early hours to travel, to be with her husband and boy. And I’m  afraid I can’t quite. . . well, it's my corset.”

Ah. Grace gathered every single spec of will power she had and forced herself to slip inside the queen’s room, her eyes pointedly fixed on the floor. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw the queen sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands on her back, tugging helplessly at the corset strings. 

She made her way over.

“Could you turn, please?” 

The queen nodded and turned, placing her hands on the bed and leaning forward. 

“How tight would you like it?”

“Enough. I want to be able to breathe, alright?”

Grace smiled and found herself relaxing a little. It wasn’t like the queen was naked. 

“Grace?”

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Could you call me by my name please? You’re my head guard. I think a little informality is due at this point.”      

“But Reginald-”

“Pah! Reginald. He can barely wield a sword.”

_ Good,  _ thought Grace,  _ he’s keeping up appearances. _

“But, your majesty. It's not. . . appropriate.”

The queen snorted. “The entire kingdom saw me in my nightwear last night! Appropriate, indeed.”

Grace found herself laughing again, and finished tying the corset strings at the base of the queen’s spine. She had beautiful, soft skin. It was dotted with freckles on her arms, her shoulders, her face and neck. Small amber and brown galaxies all over. 

“Please, Grace.” 

It felt intimate, but Grace was not going to admit that. The queen would just laugh. 

“If you wish it, your majesty.”

The queen began pulling on her boots. She was dressed almost akin to a prince today,  her corset a brown leather over a billowing white peasant shirt, her breeches a firm deer skin. Even her boots came up over her knees. She looked strong, capable. Not a queen so much as a ruffian.

“Roslyn.”

“Hm?”

“My name, Grace. My name is Roslyn.”

Grace blinked fast, and then came to her senses. 

“That is a very good name, your-”

The queen looked at her.

“. . . Roslyn.”

The queen looked immensely pleased, and Grace thought that she would have done it much sooner had she known that’s how the queen would have reacted. 

“I know it might feel strange at first, but you’ll get used to it. I want you to consider me your friend, Grace.  I enjoy your company. Besides,” Roslyn smoothed her hands down her shirt and then smoothed down her hair, “I haven’t heard my name in so long.”

“Nobody calls you Roslyn?”

“Not since my father died. He was the last person that ever knew me as anything other than royalty.”

“I’m sorry for your grief.”

Roslyn smiled and and then gestured for them to leave the room. It couldn’t help but feel a little conspicuous - the two of them leaving the queen’s chambers, Grace obviously flushed. Calling the queen, who she had simply seen from afar despite being so close each day, by her name. Reginald would assume so many things.

“My queen, I could have aided you-”

“I’m sure you could have, Reginald. But it is improper for a male guard to enter a female’s quarters unless we’re under attack or you’re bringing food.”

Another involuntary laugh. The queen had such a sharp wit about her. 

“My apologies, my queen.” 

Grace almost cursed out loud. Would she be able to call the queen by her name in public? What about in front of Reginald? He might become jealous. Or confused. Or suspicious. 

“Pah, no apologies, Reginald. They don’t suit you.”

  
  
  


Over the next few days, the queen met with many foreign dignitaries. She drew up plans for the battlefield with the guard sectors, and even held a festival for the kingdom to calm the tattered nerves of her subjects. It did the trick, and she continued making arrangements for war. 

Grace spent these days training. Practicing sword and fencing techniques, riding one of the stable horses through the hills on the outskirts of the kingdom, honing her body and mind for war. It was incredibly easy to get back into this mindset. She had endured war only once before, and had slain many. After being with the queen for so long, serving her in meanial ways and living in general peace, her mind had become docile. She had simply forgotten what warfare felt like. 

But this was it: adrenaline rushing through you every second, a spike of fear and excitement at the mention of the enemy. And that lust for bloodshed that, unfortunately, inhabited every knight that had experienced war. It gave her something to focus on. 

However, it had the opposite effect on the queen. Grace noticed the sleepless nights gathering under her eyes, the twitching fingers, the unruly hair. It was wearing her down slowly, and Grace could tell she was pushing herself too far. 

It was uncharacteristic of Grace to be impulsive, but everybody had the excuse of inevitable death looming over them nowadays. 

So, one morning, before sunrise, when the hills were foggy and clouds blurred the sun, Grace entered the queen’s chambers, uninvited. 

“Roslyn? Wake up.”

“Hm? Grace?”

_ Who else?  _ “Yes, wake up.”

“What is it?”

“I have something I want to do.” Uncharacteristically selfish, too. 

“Alright, alright, give me a moment.”

Grace simply turned to face the wall while the queen dressed, leaving her corset like a husk on the nearby stool.

She turned to see Roslyn with her hair falling in her eyes, her white peasant shirt tucked into her breeches and her boots buckled sloppily. 

There was nothing more beautiful, surely. 

“You’re ready?”

“I’m dressed, aren’t I?”

Grace nodded once, and marched out the room, down the stairwells and outside to the stables. 

“It’s raining,” she heard Roslyn say. 

“It’s nothing. Barely mist.”

“Still. Do you think anybody else is awake?”

“I would imagine the farmers, perhaps. The peasants on the outskirts. The guards and knights, for warfare purposes. The bell ringer.”

“And us.”

“Yes, although you still seem a little sleepy.”

Roslyn laughed and followed Grace to a stall at the very end of the stables where her favourite horse stood. 

“You want to ride? This early?”

Grace grinned. “You don’t?”

The queen wrinkled her nose and opened the stall, saddling the pale horse and swinging lithely onto it.

Grace took the reigns and led the horse and Roslyn out all the way to the hills. They talked on the way, a friendly chatter as the mist of rain fell on the kingdom. It was a brisk, fresh morning and it made Grace feel like everything was possible. 

 

It took the horse a while to adjust to Roslyn’s riding technique, but it was well trained, and eventually the two of them were riding while the sun rose. 

Grace frequently glanced behind her to find the queen in various states; looking distantly off to the side,  pushing her hair this way and that, and once even dozing. She noted the way the light shone against Roslyn and lit up her eyes, how it made the soft strands of lighter color visible in her dark hair.

“What is on the saddle?” Grace had looked down to check the queen was strapped in properly, and noticed a small basket fastened to one of the hoops at the saddles buckles. 

“Ah,” Roslyn’s eyes crinkled when she smiled, “just a few things I had the kitchen staff throw together. I’m sure you’re hungry?” 

As if on cue, Grace’s stomach gurgled and they laughed. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. We shall tie up the horses and settle down somewhere along the glen.”

Grace swung off her horse and they tied the reins to a nearby hanging post that had rotted down to eye-level from the storms. 

The sun had risen enough to provide a warm light on the clearing nearby as they sat to partake of the food. What Roslyn had claimed was “thrown together” was actually quite fancy, but Grace should have known. 

Unwrapping the cloth, Grace was able to inventory everything; a loaf of freshly baked bread from the village baker, a wedge of cheese the size of her palm, two shiny green apples, a  decanter of mead, and two tankards tucked away to the side. 

“Quite a feast, isn’t it?” Roslyn smiled and watched contentedly as Grace picked up one of the apples and took a huge bite out of it. 

“They’re my favourite,” Grace said between bites. 

“I know,” said Roslyn, “I took the liberty of inquiring your prefered meals from the kitchen staff.”

“You. Did?” 

A nod from the queen, and then a sure smile. 

“I was curious about you. For a lady, you seem very brash and almost, dare I say, sloppy.”

“And for a queen you’re a wild, outspoken savage. I think that makes us even.”

Roslyn snorted and held her torso as she rocked back with laughter. 

“If I were a lesser human and a crueler queen I could have you beheaded for treason.” Grace gave her queen a wide eyed look before recognizing her impish glaces for what they were; teasing.  She shook her head slightly, and took out a small paring knife. Carefully, she sliced the cheese into several pieces, and then broke off a small chunk from the loaf of bread. 

“Tell me,” Roslyn started, “where are you from?” She took the offered piece of cheese, tossed it into her mouth, and looked expectantly at Grace, chewing.

Grace took a moment to eat and  gather her thoughts. 

“I'm from South Glensdowell.”

“That's  long way from here.” 

“It’s not like there's anybody waiting for me there, or anybody I want to see again.”

“What about your-”

“My parents do not wish to see me. Well, perhaps my mother does. I haven't seen or heard from them since I left. Not a single letter.”

“That's awfully lonely,  don't you think?”

“I do have friends.” Grace said, indignant now. 

“I'm glad you think of me as so.” 

“There are more than you, be assured, your majesty.” Grace said, flustered. 

“Oh,  there's someone else?” Roslyn feigned a look of outrage. “How dare you!” 

Grace sighed in exasperation. 

“I jest. You do know what a joke is? Surely not all knights are cold and humourless as you seem to be.”

“I know what a joke is,” Grace felt like she was walking on unsteady ground, and that perhaps it would be best to slow whatever this was down. 

“Grace, I am glad that you consider me  your friend.” Roslyn said, sobering the mood.

Deciding that speaking would not fare her well, Grace simply looked at the queen, deciding now to be the best time to study her charge. 

Roslyn looked back, slightly confused by the intent look on her head guard’s face, the steady, solemn eyes that gazed up and down her form, settling each time on her face like it was the last time she was going to see it. 

After a time, Grace spoke. 

“We ought to be getting back. The Priest will be wondering where his queen is.”

Roslyn slapped her forehead with the flat of her hand. 

“Shit! The Priest! How-”

Her eyes relaxed and her lips tightened as she lowered her hand and met Grace’s eyes, which were almost smug.

“You took me out here on purpose?”

“Not exactly. I wanted to spend time with you. The matter of you being late for your meeting with The Priest was a . . . pleasant consequence, if you will.”

Roslyn shook her head in disbelief before grinning and pushing up off the ground. 

Together they dusted off their clothes and packed up the inedible remains of their picnic, untying the horses from the post. 

“We should do this again, when there is not the threat of war hanging over us. Quite the guillotine to spoil the mood, hm?”

Grace’s mind had drifted from soft thoughts of Roslyn - her hair, mouth, her small, slender hands, their easy courtship - to darker, dogged thoughts of what was to come. The war, the protection and safety of the queen, the deal she had forged in blood for the crown. 

It was not an easy burden on her shoulders, not something someone so young should bear, but it was too late to contemplate brighter times now. Too late to consider the tempting ease of fleeing the kingdom, abandoning their duties in favour of domesticity. 

Besides, it would leave Grace drenched in guilt. Her everyday life would be tainted with self-loathing if she abandoned her life’s training and hard work for temporary lust. 

It was time to let the knight in her charge; time to become distant and cold, as cruel as it all might seem. But it was her only choice. 

“It was foolish of me to drag you out of bed at such a time. I’ve made you late for your meeting, and bloated before your dinner tonight. Forgive me.”

Roslyn had begun shaking her head the moment Grace had spoke, and sought to meet her eyes with an earnest expression. It was like she could sense the previous amenity between them fading quickly.

“Grace, there is nothing to apologize for. Did you not enjoy our time together?”

Grace felt her heart pick up, her palms become clammy. But she also felt her resolve harden.

“It was foolish. Come now, hand me your reins.”

The queen did as she was told, but the entire way back to the kingdom and castle, Grace could feel eyes burning into the back of her head. She could hear the words trapped on the queen’s tongue. 

Guilt burned on the pyre in her chest.

Such a guillotine that hung.


	5. The Gatehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grace believes she is Don Juan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am both sleep deprived and running on coffee. I promise I will add more detail on Grace and Roslyn's . . . bedroom exploits, in the next chapter.

Grace was posted in one of the many arched vestibules leading into the Dining Hall. She knew all of the guards and even a few of the knights were posted along the battlements, in the flanking tower and manning the drawbridge. It made her restless that any day now, an immortal would arrive to deliver the news of imminent warfare.

Since the awkward post-picnic exchange between Roslyn and herself, Grace had been hesitant to say anything at all to her. In the morning she managed a brief ‘your majesty’, but she could see the raw emotion in the queen’s expression, as much as she tried to hide it. 

It took a lot of willpower not to disclose everything with someone as amiable as the queen, but Grace was trying her utmost to not say anything more than she had to. 

And, contrary to Grace’s perspective, the queen was not at all amiable. Every subject that had entered into the lower bailey to offer their plights, had been greeted with the same steely gaze and monotone voice. It was as though the queen was evolving into a more formal, somehow darker version of herself, and it did not go amiss to anybody. 

Grace filled her mornings with early sword practice and riding in the outfields, and her evenings with a rushed supper of soup and bread, and then right back to sword practice, fighting with the other knights in different battalions to diversify her skill set. Half of her mind was focused on honing her abilities to their peak, but the other half was worrisomely focused on a woman. It was indecent. 

Not only were they both females. . . Grace was still a peasant, in many ways. Still unaccustomed to things above her pay. Things that Roslyn - things that her majesty - took for granted. 

They would both be burned alive if anybody were to discover something more.

“Guard. Your station shift ended. Not payin’ attention?”

Grace blinked and her vision cleared. Killian was standing in front of her, crooked teeth and ruffled blonde hair. He smiled and cocked his head. 

“Grace? You in there?”

She smiled and nodded, shrugging haplessly.

“Sorry. I was thinking about what training I need to get done tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Killian used the tip of his dagger to scrape something  from between his teeth. “No point in training, I say. Bloody devils will drive us out the kingdom or we’ll all be slaughtered by dawn.”

It made Grace’s skin erupt in shivers, the nonchalant way Killian suggested they would all be dead. They would all be killed, by the immortals. It was another thing on her ever-growing list of things to work out. How to not die. 

“Right, where to, soldier?”

“Guard, actually. Knight, soon, if I’m lucky.” Killian grinned and sheathed his dagger, shuffling so he was standing right beside her. “Go on, you’re on gatehouse duty.”

“Right. Gatehouse. With who?”

“Just you, ‘m’fraid. Nothing much to worry about, is there? Comin’ in peace ‘n everything. Chance would be a fine thing.”

He laughed and shook his head, and Grace found her stomach churning into knots. This whole time she had been in the mindset of killing others of her kind, but this was something to be handled with care. They were too weak for their enemy to have a fair fight. 

She nodded at Killian and glanced back quickly into the Dining Hall where the queen was having supper with the Duke of Prettmore. He was older, with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp features. He looked like he should be more than a Duke. 

As Grace clattered up the stone steps, she caught the tail end of their conversation, and let the sound of the queen’s voice settle her mind for a sweet, brief moment. 

And then, to the gatehouse. 

  
  


“It’s freezing up here.”

Grace jerked awake and spun around quickly. 

The queen was standing at the top step leading to the gatehouse, her face washed paler by the moonlight, her eyes wide and dark. Her lips were the colour of blood.

“Your majesty?”

“I came to pay you a visit.”

“You’ll catch your death up here.”

She laughed at that, and her eyes looked immeasurably sad. Her hands were clad in thin lace gloves, black and winding against her skin. Grace had to hold her wrists behind her back so she wouldn’t reach out and touch her.

“It would be easier that way.”

“Your majesty?”

“Stop that.”

Grace blinked stupidly for a moment. “Stop, what exactly?”

“Calling me that. You know my name, Grace.”

“And you know mine. This doesn’t immediately give you the right to use it.”

The queen frowned and Grace couldn’t help it. She reached clumsily to push with her thumb at the corner of Roslyn’s mouth. 

“You’re utterly hopeless,” she found herself saying, “I don’t know why I bother trying.”

And then, a small  _ plink. _

Grace looked at her gauntlet, at the small dew drop of a tear that sat there, shaking, til it spilled down in a thin rivulet.

“Grace.”

And it was all she needed, really. It was easier than it should have been to pull Roslyn to her, strong yet entirely supple under her hands.

Her lips were soft and cold and the inside of her mouth was warm and sweet. 

_ Hm, wet cheeks, _ though.

They discovered very quickly that armor was not the best ensemble to embrace in. Clunky, loud, and especially frustrating. But it worked, somehow. Grace wrapped one arm around Roslyn’s waist and cupped her face with her right hand, eyes closed and mouth open. It was warm, finally, and Grace felt her heart thud in her chest when Roslyn gasped beneath her lips. Her hands were helplessly caught in Grace’s hair, pushing down her chainmail headpiece and pulling on her lower lip with her teeth. 

“Would you help me with my corset?”

Grace pulled back and checked Roslyn’s face for any sense of sarcasm, any trace of a lie. 

“Are you sure?”

She could not have prepared for Roslyn’s hands on her face, panting hotly as they kissed again, tongues slicking across lips and hands scrambling for purchase on bulky iron. 

“Please, Grace.”

Was it not the duty of a head guard to keep their queen safe? And what was safer than keeping watch from the queen’s chambers? And wouldn’t it be easier from the queen’s very bed?

“Very well, your majesty.”

 


	6. Ye Be Judged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roslyn ventures into a forest.

Grace had not slept soundly like this at any point in her life. 

She was laying on the other side of the bed, her left arm hanging of the edge, her hair splayed over the pillows, bright curls on her face. 

She could hear Roslyn breathing softly, and turned to see her. Just to catch a glimpse of soft vulnerability. All Grace could see was the queen’s back, soft and washed in the cold light of dawn. Her hair, up close, had red in it. It was something of a luxury for Grace; to drink Roslyn in with her eyes. The curves and planes of her skin over muscle, bunching and shifting when she adjusted in the sheets. The dips from her neck to her shoulders, down along her side and her lower back . . . 

It was a long overdue night, and Grace felt a new ache in her chest, a keen desire to keep this feeling. To take hold of this moment and press it into her mind so that it would not be lost to memory. She wanted to remember the chill of the stone walls, the warm slip of sheets on her skin, the smell of Roslyn’s hair that seemed to transfer to her chambers. The sound of sweet breath and birds outside, the sun rising over the skyline of the kingdom. This gentle, precious silence. 

All of a sudden, Roslyn was beneath her, as Grace glanced down, propped on her elbow. She was blinking up at Grace, her eyes soft and smiling. 

“Good morning.”

“And to you, your majesty.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Grace smiled and nudged her nose against Roslyn’s, laughing softly.

“Like a babe.”

Roslyn stretched and yawned before sitting up and shifting so her head was resting on Grace’s shoulder. 

She held the queen like that for a while, noting the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed, the entanglement of their legs and the sunlight growing gold.

“Must we leave? War seems awfully insignificant after what happened. . .”

Grace rolled her eyes and kissed Roslyn softly before climbing out of the bed. Part of her felt awful, which she should have expected. What did the queen think was going to happen? They would lay together and the next morning there would be no duties to perform, no consequences? The guard would murder her with incessant teasing if they found out. 

“We should get dressed. You have-” 

Grace stopped when she heard rustling, and looked over to see the queen hurriedly pulling on a pale blue tunic, her face thunderous.

“Yes, of course, Grace. We must get dressed and tend to our individual duties. I am a monarch, a ruler.  And you? You may be a soldier, a knight, a head guard, but my god can you be a coward. Crushing your emotions and the people closest so you can claim the glory of war.”

She looked pointedly at the floor and finished buckling a belt at her waist. It had a sword sheath attached. 

“Roslyn.”

“Don’t. Get the fuck out.”

Grace flinched and finished dressing. She didn’t realize tears had fallen until the breeze caught and her face flushed cold and wet.

“I’ll see you at the preparation guard gathering.”

“Yes, your highness.”

And with that, Grace left. 

The more she walked, the more she thought. About how perhaps this rift growing now was not such a bad thing.  Heady and passionate one minute and cold and stabbing the next was no way to love. 

Perhaps it was not such a bad thing because a war was coming. Because she needed to fight and she could not fight with one hand on Roslyn’s waist. 

She would recommit, then. To her duties as head guard, leading her men into the battle, strong and kicking. 

  
  


Roslyn could not have foreseen this. 

Mangled, dead trees split the pale sky, the ground trodden and blackening. The cottage was in shambles - more of a shack, really - and the first thing the queen saw was the cat curled up on the roof. It was a bright orange colour, similar to Grace’s hair. 

She lifted the filthy brass knocker and stood back, one hand on the hilt of her sword. This was her last, desperate move to ensure the safety of her kingdom. There was no other way out from here, no way to go back. And although she wanted Grace by her side, this was one thing she must do alone. 

The door creaked open and a sharp wind picked up as soon as Roslyn laid eyes on the figure inside the cottage.

Tousled blonde hair flopping into his eyes, a sharp chin, his fingers sure and steady as he proffered a hand to escort the queen inside.

“Killian.”

“Your majesty.”

“You know why I’m here, I presume?”

Killian smiled and shook his head ruefully. “Ought not presume, highness. Now, a spell? A curse?”

“This kingdom needs protection. You and I both know that. And it seems to be within your power to ensure it.”

Killian pottered about in the kitchen for a second before returning with a tray of tea. The inside of the cottage was a lot cleaner than the outside, and Roslyn jumped a little when she saw the same ginger cat from the room, curled up on the worn kitchen floor.

“Please, sit.”

Roslyn, her hand still on her sword, sat across from her guard, on a whittled wooden stool.

“Tea?”

“Please.” She had read somewhere in a book, as a young girl, that it was rude to refuse gifts from a witch. 

Strange to think that’s what Killian was.

“You seem calm, queen. Is it that you already knew my nature before you sought my help?”

Roslyn shook her head.

“Ah, you have a secret of your own.”

Her head snapped up and she shot him a look.

“Well, I can tell because when one does not judge, it is because they harbour something to be judged by in return. Do you not harbour, majesty?”

“I do, I’m afraid.”

“Head Guard Worthe?”

Roslyn felt her whole chest tighten with paranoia.

“How did you know?”

“Bit obvious. That, and, I take the cot next to hers and she di’n’t turn up last night. Care to offer somethin’ of a solution?”

Roslyn barked out a laugh and shook her head incredulously. 

“You’re wise in your craft, Killian.”

“How is it you come to have knowledge of me, queen?”

“Reginald.”

Killian grinned lopsidedly and shrugged. “Ah, Reggie boy.”

The ginger cat prowled through and wound itself in and out of Roslyn’s booted legs, meowing.

“Now we may commence with the exchange.”

So the cat ran the cottage, then. How comforting.

Killian disappeared briefly to the back rooms and Roslyn found herself shifting about, tapping her foot, reaching to toy with a long braid that was no longer there. It was strange to be outside of her comforts, to feel so exposed to anything. Of course the nearest witch had to be in the middle of the bloody forest.

Her guard returned swiftly, a small black cauldron tucked beneath one arm, and a bundle in the other. He sat on the ground, his legs crossed, and dumped the bundle unceremoniously into the cauldron, his eyes closing and his mouth moving quickly. A spell.

“Why couldn’t we have done this in the palace?”

Without opening his eyes, Killian replied, “No talking while I work.”

The queen jerked her head back, half impressed, half offended. 

It took a long while, but eventually Killian got up, silently, and brushed his tattered breaches of debris. He took an ornate glass jar from the kitchen and poured the contents of the cauldron into it, humming an folk song under his breath.

“This,” he said, pushing in a cork with his thumb, “is yours.”

The queen stood quickly, reaching for the jar and opening her mouth to thank him, when Killian withdrew the jar and popped out the cork.

“Not yet. As is etiquette, would m’lady taste a sample?”

Roslyn stared, deadpan, at Killian, expecting him to grin lopsidedly and tell her he was jesting. But he stared back, and in her confusion, she found herself thinking that he had very nice eyes. An earthy colour, and sad-looking. Like a bloodhound. 

“Wouldn’t look for too long, majesty. I’ve had to invest in a wee lust charm after I didn’t get any ladies at the tavern the other night. No luck with my regular charms. Magic usually does the trick though.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Looks like it's working a little too well, eh?”

Roslyn shuddered and took the jar, shutting her eyes and swallowing a mouthful. It tasted raw and gritty, but it was down in a second. 

Killian corked it and handed the jar to her, and when the queen looked at the potion, she saw the brightest royal purple sloshing about. 

“My god.”

“Yeah, not quite. Off you pop.”

The queen looked at him, expectant, and he shook his head innocently.

“Am not set to ask for anything, m’lady. A knighthood is due my way if I survive this war.”

She smiled and immediately relaxed. Witch or not, this was her guard. And he was going to help her save the kingdom.

Besides, she harboured something to be judged, and an angry Grace was nothing compared to a cottage witch.


End file.
